


This Old Haunted House

by orphan_account



Series: Selections From StarcoWeek2 [3]
Category: Star vs. The Forces Of Evil
Genre: Alternate Universe - Ghost Story, Alternate Universe - Girl Next Door, Blood Moon Waltz, F/M, Haunted Houses, I say Ghoul Next Door, I'm such a creep, Midnight With the Stars and You, Mystery, POV Alternating, Song Inspired, Starcoweek Day 4 & 5, U say Girl Next Door, and, as in yes, haha - Freeform, the ending theme from a certain horror movie
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-03-25
Updated: 2016-10-20
Packaged: 2018-05-28 22:42:15
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,663
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6348556
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The house on Avocado Terrace had always been interesting...</p><p>If by interesting you mean creepy as hell.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. All My Friends Are Heathens

**Author's Note:**

> Before you begin, I suggest getting the extended Blood Moon Waltz ready to accompany a part of this tale. It heightens it, apparently. (One reviewer on FF said so)
> 
> I'm a creep.

**** The house on Avocado Terrace had always been  _interesting._

Well, maybe interesting is the wrong word, more like eerily fascinating. Or perhaps, scary as heck.

It had been old, abandoned, and decrepit for as long as he could remember and probably longer. Though it seemed to age even beyond that the closer you got. And how much closer would a sane person be willing to get, then living next door?

Yes, he had the luck to be the unfortunate soul who's parents had bought the house next door. Next door, to the only known haunted house in Echo Creek.

Some of his clasmates and peers had applauded this move. He did not share their enthusiam.

"You should totally do a backyard camp out, Marco. An all nighter, stake it out for ghosts. Have a seance." Advised Janna Ordonia, always obsessively macabre.

"Yeah, I don't think so." Marco said as if the answer could be any different.

"I don't know it sounds kinda fun." Added in  _*dreamy sigh*_  Jackie Lynn Thomas.

Marco was one to quickly retract his statement as visions of bravely facing some ghoul while Jackie's face betrayed admiration.

"Maybe once we get settled in."

Still the visions turned to dust before his eyes as he said it, as no doubt his luck would bring misfortune and embarresment. He could see all the possibilities of failure.

"Invite me when you do. I know a lot of ways to  _wake the dead."_  Janna had said suggestively. And Marco had rolled his eyes.

"If it was me," Alfonzo Dolittle had added in his unusual voice "I wouldn't sleep a wink."

"That's the idea." Again from Janna.

"What he means." Ferguson O'durguson spoke up. "Is that you're basically already dead, Marco."

"I'm only moving next door, I'm not gonna live in the actual house." Marco had defended.

"Ghosts don't care about property lines, Marco." Janna had said in a cheerful voice. And that was the last word on the topic that day.

* * *

Marco had been able to write it off. Calm his fears and rebuke himself for fooolishness. And for nearly two weeks had slipped on his headphones as he went to sleep and shut his eyes till the alarm awoke him in the morning. Not tempting fate that he should see or hear anything unusal.

Everyday he had been able to walk in front of the massive old ruin on his way to the bus stop, and again on his way home. He got to observe it. In daylight, which was preferable.

It was a castle. Not figuratively, but quite literally. A palace. Or at least it had been at one time.

It didn't have the architecture of a medieval English fortress or such, but it was a castle all the same. With towers and turrets and balconies.

Outside the gardens were overgrown with creeper and vines and moss and kudzu. Cactuses can't die. At least that was what he had always thought. He had never seen a dead cactus. But the ones surrounding the house were surely dead. Much like the rest of the house.

The shutters of arched windows creaked and cackled in wind. The colors, once vibrant it seemed, were faded by sunshine and acid rain. The paint was chipping and the hinges unhinged. The roof held gaping holes, he could only imagine the water damage inside. The rats and snakes and other things that had made it their home. The steps up to the door were cracked. The wrought iron fence surrounding was bent in many places and gone in others. Only one tower had not fallen to complete structural ruin. It held a stange immortality, an immunity to age. It didn't look as if it had been nearly as brought down by time as the others. It almost held the houses supposed former glory. Though oddly the creeper that climbed up the side of it was dead. Though all the rest of the plant life surrounding it lived and thrived. It was intriguing and Marco found his eyes wandering there more than any other.

It was on a night after two weeks in his new home that the sun had set earlier than usual. Catching him off guard as he had dilly-dallied at arcades and things after school. Making a rather unexpectedly darker walk home.

The cold breeze of Autumn evenings blew through his thin jacket and shivers made him feel chillier still. He was well aware of his route.

As he passed the house, he tried to hurry. Internally cursing his cowardice when he knew there was no need, and also internally panicking. His luck interfering as always and he found his foot caught on a creeping weed. With a stumble and a groan the boy tumbled to the sidewalk. And it was just enough time for the sounds to reach his ears.

The wind rushed through the old house. Branches hitting broken glass panes and breezes whistling through old pipes. The creaking of swinging boards and settling foundations, these were nothing new.

No, it was the sounds he had avoided with his headphones several nights in a row, but he could not avoid now.

A piano played. An old, out of tune, yet still hauntingly beautiful, piano. The notes started slow, soft, and danced along night air as they flew into a waltz. A waltz that crescendod from it's longing beginnings into a positive tune. With flourishes and feeling.

Marco sat dazedly on the sidewalk where he had fallen, enchanted by the music. He couldn't move even if he wanted to, it pulled him in like magic. He felt himself rise from the concrete, his legs walking not towards the safety of his own house. But towards the ruin next door. A trance calling him closer.

The music changed as the waltz took on a more thoughtful bridge. Quieter now, and transitioning. Spinning his mind in circles. Then launching into a soft little tune in the middle, simple and sweet. Marco inched closer and found himself within the gates.

The soft tune lightened, whispered and repeated it's last and then started to grow. Soon the waltz took it's chorus again with greater strength then before, the magical allure growing stornger with each pounding of piano keys. Marco was almost through the garden walk. Nearing the steps to the grand double doors.

The song was interrupted by a tree frog perched on the branch that had noticed his presence. It's song-like croak like a warning to the mystery musician. For the music cut off abruptly and Marco awoke.

His realization hit him suddenly as he stood cold in fear. Ready to sprint to his own house and the apparent safety it provided.

 _"Ghosts don't care about property lines."_  The words echoed in his head.

Still he wasted no time in making his way at least out of the gate. Back onto the sidewalk lining Lake Street. There he paused and looked back, torn between curiosity and terror. His gaze lingering on the tower he watched most. And found something that gave him the warmest feelings mixed with his cold terror. A something to be seen from the outline of the tower's balacony door.

A light glowed.

Still his legs carried him home with adrenalin. His heavy breaths and quick heartbeat not calmed for several hours.

But when he went to bed that night, he didn't use his headphones.

And somewhere in his dreams, he heard a waltzing sort of lullaby, and a voice humming along.

* * *

_Day 47,378_

_I think Autumn is growing closer. The sun is setting earlier than I expected. It started setting even before our new neighbor has returned home from school._

_I envy him. Though why shouldn't I?_

_To be able to go to school. Talk, laugh, enjoy, LIVE. I envy his heavy breaths he takes when he runs past our house out of fear, or perhaps he is late. I hope it is the latter._

_He is fascinating. At least from what I observe. And I've seen him observe too. He is cautious. Yet curious. I can see it in his eyes._

_From the number of days I realize the anniversary is coming soon. A few months it would seem, but what is a month to me? Another thirty days to entertain myself. Or to be lost in eternal boredom, perhaps a well desrved punishment._

_It will be my 144th birthday. Or it would have been I suppose. Though to me I don't feel a day over 14. A day over the day I last felt a breath in my lungs, or another human's touch. The last day I was alive. Nearly 130 years ago._

_I don't like to remember that day. But I am doomed to never forget it. My party, the anouncement, and how I had taken it. And how I had paid for my crime, repeatedly._

_I had had a century to grieve. To regret. Surely I could move on._

_But surely not._

_It was a lonely, boring, sort of not-life._

_At least I had the piano._

_Growing up, lessons were a burden. But if it was one thing to keep me busy now then I was thankful for it._

_Today was a day for piano._

_I felt my non-_ _corporeal_ _form settle down atop the bench. If you can feel such things. It's hard to describe. Being heavy and yet weightless. Feeling surface yet no touch. It was like being aware of it. Or like the world was simply gas. It felt like something but not anything solid. Thankfully my touch could weigh heavy enough on the keys to make a sound._

_I debated what to play. Different tunes floating in and out of my brain. All of them too familar._

_Then I felt the breeze of approaching Autumn. Or if that sounds impossible, I felt the movement it caused around me. It reminded me of a tune long forgotten._

_Somehow though the muscle memory came through like magic. And I was swept away on the waltzing notes. The Blood Moon Waltz. A song I hadn't thought about in ages._

_It stirred something in me. Something I couldn't place. It always had. It reminded me of a fairytale my father read me so many years ago. A tale of a Princess who went to a ball with a Prince of Darkness. And the Mysterious Masked Stranger that stole a dance,_  and her heart. _The light of the legendary Blood Moon magically intertwining their souls forever, so that even after they had lost each other they would find one another again and never be parted. I don't remember the end however, I think the Prince of Darkness killed the Masked Stranger and forced the Princess to marry him instead. Fairytales were like that when I was young, not happy. Happy endings don't exist._

_All these thoughts and many more floated through my mind as I played. Lost to the dark despair around me, if only for a moment. Then a warning sounded from the trees in the garden. **Intruder, intruder.**_

_I stopped playing and flew to the window. Supposing it was just some wayward cat._

_It was_  him.

_Standing on the doorstep. Eyes fogged. Coming out of a stupor. But why?_

_He was so close. I could almost call to him. I had wanted to ever since his family had moved in. They looked pleasant and accepting. And maybe not as fearful._

_Perhaps he would come inside, perhaps I could speak to him! Perhaps he wouldn't run, perhaps he would reply! Perhaps I would not be alone._

_But he ran. All at once his face came to a realization and he ran. Out through the gardens towards the gate._

_With heavy sighs, I gathered a candle as the sun set further and made my way back to my room. Though as I flew out slightly to the balacony I saw his silhouetted figure on the sidewalk. Looking up at my tower._

_There was still a chance._


	2. Cause The World Might Do Me In

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I love horror movie music.
> 
> How to make friends:
> 
> 1\. Trick them into thinking you're still alive.
> 
> 2\. Profit??

Two feet forward.

Four feet back.

He crossed the property line two days ago.

The sidewalk distance to the wrought iron gate was becoming steadily less.

Four feet forward.

Forty-two inches back.

Every afternoon a little closer, every afternoon a little braver.

Either that or he was slowly losing his mind.

If anyone at school found out, yes he would surely be called a madman.

" _Marco's standing on the sidewalk again, absolute madman!_ "

Janna would ask him if he had a thing for ectoplasm and if he did to let her know, cause that might be interesting.

He didn't want to think of her implications.

Jackie would tell him he was brave or bold, but she'd secretly think him very foolhardy, and possibly bonkers.

That was not a good thing for his already sullied reputation.

He couldn't even imagine what his parents would say. They might actually support it.

" _Our son is so polite, he even is cordial with the neighbors who aren't supposed to be in the physical realm_!"

Twenty-seven centimeters forward.

Fifteen inches back.

Somehow he had entered the gate.

He couldn't call it idle curiosity anymore, or morbid fascination. It was either the need to know absolutely for sure if his fears were founded and what the truth really was or it was something even he could not place nor held any control over. A force greater than him, greater than the limits of life itself.

On the sunniest Saturday in October, a day with no plans and no further inhibitions. Marco reached the front steps.

The house creaked. The eaves sighed. A wind whistled through the dead trees. A sparrow tried to sing but instead flew off, far and away, not waiting to see the outcome.

He noted the chipped paint again, the shutters loose on their hinges, the way the porch sagged and the walls crumbled in some places. He really wondered why it wasn't condemned. The dead plants that filled what at one time must have been a rather astounding garden. Then his eyes trailed back again over the mysterious tower. The tower that sustained a longevity unmatched by its surroundings. Where the rest had failed, it thrived. Just thinking about how such a thing could be perplexed him into headaches.

He let his gaze rest on the front double door. Large, imposing, and somewhat ominous. He wondered if he should go through with his plan today or accept that he had made it this far and vow to return another time.

Though, what was his plan again?

 _'Now Diaz,'_ he heard his inner monologue _say,_ another sure sign of sanity slippage _'you know the plan. Open the door, find the player piano, check for signs of a hobo staying there recently who was playing a good trick on you. Go home and live the rest of your life in complete and total peace and reassurance.'_

Simple enough, but standing in front of those doors he was losing his nerve.

After a moment he had decided, and turned swiftly to head back down the steps. To try again another day, with the comfortable self assurance of progress made.

It was only the sound of a piano that stopped him in his tracks.

* * *

Four weeks

Four weeks and three days, she had watched from the windows.

Every afternoon, at really a very set time, she could wind a clock by him. He would stop on the sidewalk, just a little closer. Sometimes he would make it wonderfully further, but then a look of pure dread would overtake him and he would be retreating again. Often he would retreat farther than he had gone.

Still it excited her, it was something to look forward to in a humdrum existence. Everyday the boy would be on the sidewalk.

Closer and closer.

But not close enough.

Then came the beautiful day he made it inside the gate.

If she still had a heartbeat, she sworn it would have skipped a little.

She wondered if he realized what he was doing, or why. She wondered if he really did plan to come into the house. And she wondered what she herself should do if he actually did.

He didn't seem to be the most fearless boy, and she worried, if she were to show herself, would he simply run?

Yet, he also wasn't too cowardly because a cowardly person would have run away the first day and not have come back. He always came back. Even after he had heard her playing.

He had to have some idea that she was inside, why else would he be so cautious? To prepare to face a ghost. Part of her remembered a little though that she might have come with an excuse for it being something logical, not that she herself wasn't logical. Though when you're still a fully alive human you don't see the logic of a ghost's existence.

It was on the day he reached about a foot away from the steps she made up her mind. She knew what she would do, risky and a little unethical it would be. It would use a lot of energy, but she would do it. To put out such an illusion was no easy task.

People (ghost or not) make unexpected decisions when they're lonely.

* * *

 The tune was flourishing from the start, as if the players hands were flying up and down the keys. Though Marco reminded himself with common sense. There wasn't any player.

After the beginning chords it settled out into a well defined tune. This was no waltz. The way it sounded Marco would have imagined it better suited to a full orchestra, well really, a big band. It had the perfect flow that would sound heavenly in brass. He wondered if there was words.

It was somewhere in the bravery he creaked open the door.

It sounded more like the cry of a banshee than he figured anything in the house did. At least he hoped.

The music continued as he followed it deeper inside, setting a handy rock he had found near the porch to keep the door wide open.

It was dark, with little drifts of light coming in from dingy windows, and much larger gaps of brightness where the glass had been shattered long before. The dust floated and reflected the light like tiny will o' wisps. Setting a sort of still and time slowing air. Further in he walked. Wallpaper peeling and faded, furniture worn or covered in dust cloth, Lighting fixtures designed for gas instead of electricity. Piano sounds filtered from all sides, reverberating in the walls, making the disapproving portraits staring down at him seem a little bit less effecting. They couldn't harm him, not in life and not in death when such a lively little jive was playing.

It was so familiar, where did he know it from? He could almost hear the words...

> _"Midnight, with the stars and you._
> 
> _Midnight, and a rendezvous."_

Suddenly he knew exactly where it was from and it made him terribly unsettled.

Even more unsettling though, was the fact that he could hear them being sung as well. By someone, or something. 

> _"Your eyes, held a message tender._
> 
> _Saying I surrender, all my love to you."_

Now he was sure of some mysterious force pushing him forward, because that was the only possible reason why he was remaining here. Even his pursuit of the truth would leave him running now and never looking back. It had to be seem something he couldn't control, something they was making him sing too as well as he pressed closer and closer to the handle of a door just off the front hall. 

> _"Midnight, what a sweet romance._
> 
> _I know all my whole life through."_

He swung it open, no creaking, no fanfare. And to his utmost surprise.

No _ghost_.

The playing stopped, as the player turned. A simple girl. No hobo. Blue dress, blonde hair, blue eyes. She looked a little tired, a little shocked, but overall very much there. Actually she was rather beautiful.

"Uh, hi, I'm sorry, I didn't mean to disturb you I just-." He felt himself awkwardly drone off.

He forgot he should be a little apprehensive, because no matter how flesh and blood this girl was, she was still playing an old piano in a dilapidated house, she was still playing the end theme from _The Shining_ on an old piano in a dilapidated house. That was a bit of a warning sign.

She spoke then. As if to confirm her realness even more than the skin and bone body sitting on the piano bench.

"No no it's fine, I was just... I'm sorry you live next door don't you? Has this been bothering you? The piano I mean."

Marco stumbled over his words in confusion. "No it hasn't been bothering me uh, you play wonderfully, and you have a nice voice too. That is, I mean your song choices are very interesting, but- wait you know I live next door, do you-? Are you-? How long have you been staying here, I mean you live here?" If she knew he lived next door that meant she had probably seen his weird behavior on the sidewalk, was she super freaked? He didn't want to pry, and wondered if his interest had now become idle curiosity or morbid fascination? He hoped not, but if it wasn't a good thing to bring up...

"Yes, I live here, for quite a while now. I know it's a little bit of a wreck but, it's home. Forgive me for not introducing myself sooner, it's just I have to be careful of neighbors, since I'm living alone and all." Her tone said that Marco was the first neighbor she didn't feel she had to be wary of.

"You live here alone? Like no parents or siblings or weird relatives? Did you run away from home or something?" Marco worried he was being impolite but she didn't look offended by his questions.

"My parents are dead, and I haven't got any siblings, I'm not sure about relatives but if there are any I know they would not like having me around. And you couldn't call an orphanage or any other place home, so no I didn't. This is my home."

Marco was shocked, flabbergasted and at a loss for words. He choked out an "I'm so sorry." but she just shrugged her shoulders.

"Don't be, I like it here, it's not as bad as it looks, especially the tower, it's very nice. Plus I have this piano. There's a flower and veggie garden in the backyard to keep me occupied along with the well for water. The only hard thing is I can't leave the house a lot, not at all in the daylight because of the risk of being seen. So it gets very boring and a little lonely."

Marco felt a sympathy flow through him. Here he had been expecting the worst, and all he had gotten was this poor lonely girl with no one and nothing left in the world. Just trying to live her life as best she could.

"I can't even imagine, what about school?" He knew she couldn't go obviously, though wouldn't it be great to introduce her to the gang and have them see that they had been wrong about the so-called haunted house?

"There's a library of books across the hall, though I'm a little behind the times with all of them. Same with the clothes," she showed her blue dress in comparison, upon second glance it was pretty out of date. A hundred years or more. "From a wardrobe upstairs. At least they fit so I'm not complaining."

Marco had found a seat now inside the room, the shabby furniture surprisingly comfortable. And the girl rose from her piano bench to a chair opposite him. The windows let in the afternoon light better than the ones in the front hall. They were obviously cleaner. He could see her better now that his eyes adjusted. Though the dress was old, obviously moth eaten and a little ragged in its age, it suited her. The color matched her eyes and set off her hair. It didn't overpower her pale complexion, probably from being inside too long. Nor did it come up or down to far on her build, it almost seemed to be made for her.

"It looks nice, I mean you look nice. Sorry I'm being awkward, sorry."

"No, no, I mean thank you, and I'm the one who's awkward. Don't apologize, I'm just not used to talking to people."

There was a small silence as they looked shyly at one another. At a loss for exactly where to start in the many things they both had to say.

"Let's start over," she finally said reaching out a hand "I'm Star."

"I'm Marco. Marco Diaz. I'm just telling you my last name but you don't have to tell me yours if it makes you uncomfortable or anything, I don't want you to think you have to- sorry there I go again. I'm just still a little nervous, I know it sounds silly, but I almost expected to find a ghost."

"That's not silly at all, I would probably think the same thing."

And Marco didn't doubt it either, for the first time since he moved into his new house, he didn't feel like he was losing his marbles. There was something about Star that made him feel at ease, or at least like he could say something like that and she wouldn't think him a weirdo. Especially the way she smiled at him. It was nice.

"I'm just relieved I found you instead."

The smile turned into a frown for only a moment. Though he might have just imagined it.

"I'm relieved you found me too." She said softly and for a moment she looked away and towards the window.

Marco continued on unaffected now in his newfound comfort.

"Though you really had me terrified. Playing the end theme from _The Shining_ and all."

"What?" She asked puzzled turning back to him, "that's not what I was playing. I was playing _Midnight With the Stars and You._ "

"Yeah that's the theme from _The Shining_ , you didn't know?" Marco had thought she would be the horror movie type, living in such a house, but then if he lived in such a house he would want to forget every horror movie he ever watched.

She shook her head.

"Oh, well it's probably for the best, horror movies can be a little scarring and ruin things for you, so this way you can enjoy that song, which is really good, without anything making it weird."

"Horror movies?"

"Yeah, but you probably haven't seen a movie in a while. " Marco shook his head, that was no life. "If you ever want to watch any though, any movie, just tell me and I'll figure out how we can set it up." His laptop battery could probably hold long enough, or if he got enough extension cords...

"That sounds wonderful! Thank you!" The smile returned and the day was bright.

His mind was already coming up with other ideas too though. Sheet music of more recent songs. Food she couldn't grow in the backyard. Soft drinks too or milk or juice. Video games. He'd let her have a walkie talkie to use to call him if someone from the orphanage she escaped from got wind of her location. Or just to talk. That would be nice. And what about helping her fix up this place a little? She didn't have to live in rack and ruin. So many plans and goals. He could only attribute it to his empathy for her sad sad life, but he was going to help, in any way he could. Make it better.

He was going to make sure that Star got to really _live_.

**Author's Note:**

> ~~Star is the Zodiac Killer~~


End file.
